


out here, realigned

by sleepymoon



Series: The Nephilim Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: But mostly fluff, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, M/M, Mpreg, pregnant!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 15:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2394236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymoon/pseuds/sleepymoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But mostly, vividly, he remembers waking up to an empty bed, to cold sheets and crippling confusion. He had searched for Cas in every single room of the bunker, heart lodged in his throat and beating faster and faster the clearer it got that he wasn't going to find him. He had called, shouted, begged, but nothing.</p><p>Cas was gone, radio silent, and he had stayed gone for four entire months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	out here, realigned

**Author's Note:**

> A special thank you to Jess for looking this over ❤

Dean was trying exceptionally hard to concentrate on the book, half lying on his bed with his upper back against the wall and one leg tucked under himself, the night lamp shifted towards him. He had briefly considered re-reading Slaughterhouse 5 for the umpteenth time, but in the end he had figured he could give George RR Martin a shot, and he had borrowed the first book of the series from Sam. Well, sneaked it from his bookcase to be precise, but it didn't really make such a big difference in the grand scheme of things.

Most importantly, he was enjoying it so far. It was as good of an alternative as any to deal with his recent lack of sleep. He had resorted to exhausting himself in order to catch some shuteye – since his brain just wasn't cooperating. There was this little voice inside his head that constantly kept nagging and poking and making him think about certain things that he _really_ didn't want to think about...

Things like the hunt back in February, when the thought of losing Cas to a bloodthirsty vamp had pushed him to do the unthinkable – once back in the bunker, his veins still pumping with adrenaline and a relief so strong that it made him reckless and daring and a little bit less terrified... well, let's just say that he remembers the feeling of bare skin against bare skin, the sense-memory of chapped lips scraping sloppily at his neck while murmuring senseless praises, half of which were in Enochian that he didn't really understand. He remembers the things that came out of his own mouth too, embarrassingly enough – sappy endearments and life-lasting promises that even now, despite everything that happened, he still has a hard time taking back.

But mostly, vividly, he remembers waking up to an empty bed, to cold sheets and crippling confusion. He had searched for Cas in every single room of the bunker, heart lodged in his throat and beating faster and faster the clearer it got that he wasn't going to find him. He had called, shouted, begged, but nothing. Cas was gone, radio silent, and he had stayed gone for four entire months.

And the worst part of this whole mess was that he hated himself for falling for it, for letting himself believe it for once, only to let the harsh truth crush his stupid hopes and break his heart for good. Cas had promised, had _promised_ over and over that he would stay and Dean had kissed him giddily and made love to him only to find that the angel had bailed out on him – again.

Without even a goodbye, a post-it note, anything.

 

 

Dean frowned extra hard at the inked lines, squinting tiredly and rubbing his temples, when he felt a sudden shift in the air, the well-known sound of ruffling wings that he had blindly hoped to hear for the past months.

Castiel appeared out of nowhere and almost sagged to his knees, staggering on his feet like a drunk man, only barely managing to stay upright. He looked utterly exhausted, hair disheveled and trenchcoat stained with dirt, thick bags under his eyes. He was even breathing raggedly.

Dean was up on his feet in a heartbeat, the book falling on the floor with a thud.

  
' _Cas,_ ' he breathed, too stunned to do much else than stare.

'Dean,' Cas murmured, and he tipped forward, losing his balance.

Dean acted more out of reflex than anything else, grasping his arms and stopping his fall against his chest, Cas' hot breath tickling the skin of his neck, and to have him solid and back in his arms after all this time...

Dean sighed, shakily, cradling the back of Cas' head and pressing a shaky kiss into his hair, all his anger suddenly leaving him, the relief of having the angel back overwhelming – the grip of his arms tightened to the point of pain, but Cas didn't complain, he only shuddered, hard, burrowing his fever-hot face against Dean's shoulder.

'Cas, you're burning up,' Dean said, trying to push the angel back enough to shed the stupid trenchcoat from his shoulders, 'Hey. Cas, you gotta tell me what happened. Are you sick? Cas!' he raised his voice when he realized that Cas' eyelids were drooping low, and the angel was about to lose consciousness again.

Castiel squeezed his eyes, trying to focus.

'I'm not... ill. They were chasing me, but- now, it should be safe. I think...' he took a deep breath and his eyes widened, as if something had just now occurred to him, 'Dean, I am so sorry. I love you so much, I need you to know...'

'Yeah, yeah, you can write me a sonnet later. But first, we need to get you out of these clothes and into bed. You look a step away from passing out on me,' he said, battling with the clasp of Cas' belt as the angel swayed precariously on his feet, 'Hey, hold onto my shoulders, here. Okay, no, this isn't gonna work, sit,' he pushed him down to perch on the edge of the mattress, knelt on the floor to take off his shoes and socks, and then tug down his trousers. Cas let him work without a single protest, looking way too meek for his own good. Cas was wearing the same white and frankly unattractive boxers that he had on that last night. Dean swallowed, and peeled the covers away, gently pushing Cas to scoop up a bit and lay down onto the sheets.

As Cas moved, crawling awkwardly on the mattress, Dean finally noticed that there was something definitely _off_ with Cas' body. The shirt slid up a little bit, uncovering Cas' midsection, and – yeah. That wasn't right. His abs had been perfectly flat, Dean knew that from practical experience, but now his stomach was puffed out weirdly... kinda curved outwards. Not too noticeably, but still. It was a little mound. Dean touched the tips of his fingers to the angel's skin, wanting to feel it for himself. If Cas was sick... maybe this was the reason he had left. Maybe, Dean wondered, his throat closing up in horror, maybe he was dying?

 

Castiel turned his head towards him, his heavy-lidded eyes focused on Dean, intent. His breathing was slow and shallow, and he trembled under Dean's light touch. He didn't protest when Dean brought his other hand to Cas' stomach, too, and unbuttoned the shirt, exposing his body to his questioning gaze. Dean recognized the familiar lines of an Enochian sigil, traced with blood onto the stretched skin of his lover, red and glaring and unsettling.

'Who did this?' he asked in a whisper, leaning closer over the angel. He tentatively settled his hands on the sides of the protruding bump, careful not to smudge the blood. Castiel was obviously finding it very difficult to stay awake, but he squeezed his brows and made an effort.

'I did, Dean. It took me... so long to find the right... inscription. It is- for protection. Very ancient. Extremely... rare.'

'Cas, are you... are you dying?' Dean murmured then, trying to blink back the tears.

Cas looked back at him, confused, and so, so tired.

'I might... be dead soon. I don't know... I have a prize on my head, Dean. They will not stop searching for me. I am in no condition... to fight them back. Not now, anyway,' he added wistfully.

Dean squeezed his knee to keep him awake.

'Hey, eyes on me. Who is chasing you?'

'Esther. Malachi. Possibly Asariel... I'm not certain. There might be more.'

Dean heaved a deep, forced breath, nodding along, 'Okay, but. Why? What could you have possibly done to piss them off this much?'

Cas' lips started to tremble, tears forming at the corners of his eyes and pooling into the sheets beneath, 'I am so sorry. I've never meant nor wanted to leave you. I shouldn't have... I should have stayed with you. Dean, I should have-',

'Ssh,' Dean murmured, trying to sooth him. He leaned down until he was resting their foreheads together, stroking his fingers into Cas' hair, peppering his face with slow, careful kisses till Cas stopped shaking so badly, 'I'm not angry. I'm not, Cas. I just want to help. And I can't help if you won't tell me what's wrong. Why are these angels chasing you? What's going on?'

Castiel took in a shaky breath, looking up at Dean.

'The nephilim. They want it dead, and by extent me, too.'

'The... nephilim?' Dean repeated, frowning, 'Why? What do you have to do with it? And where is it?'

'You are touching it now, Dean,' Cas said, reaching out and pressing Dean's hand more firmly into his side, slotting his open palm against the side of the bump.

Dean felt himself go numb with shock.

With a heavy breath and a lot of effort, Cas slowly carded his other hand into Dean's hair, stroking lightly against his scalp, and he inched his neck up to press a small peck along Dean's slackened jaw, 'I had to... keep our fledgling safe,' he murmured at last, before his eyes slid close for good.

 

It took Dean a while to finally come back to his senses and untangle himself from Cas' lax embrace. He sat up straight, staring down at Cas' sleeping face, and then trailed his gaze further down, on the soft, impossible bump. He felt himself go weak in the knees at the mere thought. A nephilim? A fledgling? A... _kid?_

That was... fuck, that was a lot to take in. For one thing, he for sure wasn't going to get any sleep tonight.

 

*****

 

In the morning, he sat on the edge of the bed and gently shook Cas' arm to wake him.

'Hey,' he breathed, feeling Cas shift upwards, his eyes blinking open blearily. He helped the angel to sit up against the headboard and placed a cup of honey and milk in his hands, wrapping them around it to make sure he had a firm grip. Castiel glanced at him and then he took a long sip from the cup, humming gratefully. He looked marginally better than the night before, but the tiredness was still evident on his face, drawing sore circles underneath his blue eyes.

'So, uhm,' Dean said, clearing his throat, 'You dropped quite the bomb, last night, uh?'

'What bomb? Oh... You mean the nephilim,' Cas replied, gracing him with a shaky smile.

'Ah. So it wasn't just the exhaustion talking, you actually are... well. You're...',

'Gestating? Yes. Well, my grace is, to be correct,' he glanced around the room, squinting, 'Are those angel warding sigils?'

'Yeah, I thought- well, you said they were coming after you, so. Better safe than sorry, right?'

'Oh,' Cas said, seeming honestly surprised, 'You mean... I can stay? Here? For a while?'

Dean leveled him with a glare that he hoped would make the angel feel at least a little bit chastised.

Castiel burrowed his head in his shoulders in response, confused, 'If you'd rather not, I could...',

'Cas, for God's sake! You're not going _anywhere_. You're not getting out of my sight!'

Castiel shuffled forward awkwardly, fingertips catching Dean's jaw to hold him still, and leaned in to press his lips to the hunter's mouth. Dean let the kiss turn slightly less innocent for a few moments before drawing back. He cleared his throat, looking away, suddenly uncomfortable.

'We'll need to sort out all this stuff. Between us, I mean. And we'll need to tell Sam, obviously.'

'Yes. We'll do all those things,' Cas agreed very reasonably, 'Just- just... not right now. Please?'

'Yeah. Yeah, okay. You need to regain your strength. You should rest.'

He made to move off the bed, but Castiel grabbed his wrist, halting his motion.

'Stay here with me,' he pleaded, looking up at him. Dean nodded and lay down next to him over the covers.

'I get veto power in picking the name,' he said then to the ceiling, resolutely, 'And if you even dare suggesting naming our kid something awful like Zachariah or Uriel, I'm calling this whole thing off immediately.'

Cas hid his smile against Dean's shoulder, lacing their fingers together on top of his stomach.

'Agreed.'

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from ''Setting forth'' by Ed Vedder.


End file.
